First Dinner in Danville
by karly05
Summary: Newly arrived in Danville, Ferb and Lawrence go foraging for native food.  My response to BroadwayFanGirl91's challenge for more Ferb/Lawrence father/son stories.


**A/N – This is in response to BroadwayFanGirl91's challenge to write a Lawrence & Ferb father/son story. BroadwayFanGirl91 has a charming habit of Lawrence calling Ferb "old chap" that I adore; I hope she doesn't mind that I use it here.**

First Dinner in Danville

Ferb Fletcher stood against the big window, nose and palms pressed to the cool glass. Spread before him was the City of Danville. His new home. Only, it didn't feel much like home, and not just because he was viewing it from a hotel room. Even the oldest of the buildings seemed very new, compared to London. The cars drove on the wrong side of the street. The cab driver who had brought them from the airport, and the hotel people who had checked them in, all spoke with strange accents. Ferb had to listen extra hard to understand some of the things they said.

Ferb's Dad was chattering away behind him, unpacking suitcases. The familiar sound of his voice was comforting in the midst of so many new things. Ferb was glad that his father liked talking to the strange, new people, so he didn't have to – of course, they weren't strange to Dad. Ferb's father had gone to University here, years ago, and still knew a few of his old professors there. That was how he had gotten a job in the school's book store. Ferb thought it would be lovely to work in a place full of books. He could already read a bit, himself. Oh, nothing like the big, serious books you read at University, but after all, he was only four. Before Ferb had left England, Gran had given him her books about Winnie-the-Pooh, and he was learning to read those. It helped that he had heard the stories from her so many times, he knew several of them almost by heart.

Now, Dad came up beside him and laid a hand on his head, softly ruffling his hair. "Well, Ferb, old chap, what do you think?"

Ferb pulled back from the glass enough to look up at his father and, with a little sigh, pushed his lips into a skeptical pout.

"I know," Dad's hand fell to his back and gave him a reassuring pat, "it's not what we're used to. But, look at it as an adventure! A whole new continent to discover, just like those brave explorers who came here centuries ago."

With a tilt of his head, Ferb's expression softened, and he looked out the window again. He supposed he could imagine himself as a brave explorer. For the moment, however, he was a hungry explorer. "May we get something to eat now?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you rather have a nap first?" Dad suggested. "It's past your bedtime, you know."

This was another confusing thing. Their airplane had left London just before midday, and they had flown on the plane for almost nine hours, but in Danville, the sun was shining and it was still afternoon. Ferb was feeling rather tired, but mostly hungry, and he shook his head. He patted his tummy to drive home the point, and it helped him out by giving a small growl.

"Well, I suppose we could ring room service," Dad considered, then he came up with another idea. "Or… Are you up for a walk, Ferb? We could go foraging for native food. Our first expedition in the New World."

Dad smiled down at him encouragingly, and Ferb nodded. An expedition it was.

Hand in hand, father and son set off down the sidewalks of Danville. The first source of sustenance upon which they came was a colorful drive-in with the statue of a clown out front. Ferb looked up at the sign. _Slushy Dawg_. What on earth was a _dawg_? He had never seen that word before. He supposed it must be pronounced something like _dog_, but that wasn't how you spelled _dog_. Unless that was how they spelled it in America.

"Well, this looks like fun," Dad offered.

Ferb shook his head. He didn't care for the smell of the place, he was feeling a bit iffy about the clown, and he honestly didn't trust that they knew how to cook if they couldn't even spell _dog_ properly.

"All right, then," Dad didn't press the issue. "Further into the wilderness we go."

They walked to the next corner and, while they waited for the crossing light to change, Ferb looked up the street to his right. Past the next stop light in that direction, he could see a sign on a pole by the sidewalk. Even from this distance, he could make out the picture of a big piece of pie, painted in bright, primary colors. Pulling at his father's hand to get his attention, Ferb pointed at his discovery.

It took Dad a moment to figure out what he was supposed to be looking at, but he finally said, "Hm, yes, that looks promising." And, forgetting all about crossing the street, they turned and headed toward the sign. As they approached their destination, the painted pie – cherry, his favorite! – made Ferb's tummy growl even louder. There were words above it and, while he was still translating them in his head, Dad read them out. "_Goldie's Diner_. Well done, old chap!" he squeezed Ferb's hand.

Goldie's Diner had lots of big, glass windows with more signs pasted up in them, pictures of tempting food and words like "Best" and "Special." Ferb felt a little bounce in his step as they approached the glass doors, and Dad ushered him inside. Oh, yes, this smelled much better than that Slushy place, he thought, taking a deep breath that made his mouth water. The floor was paved with black and white tiles, and the booths had bright red seats and shiny silver edges to the tables. There was a big glass case up front filled with wedges of pie in all sorts of flavors, and his eye settled on a slice of cherry that looked even better than the painted sign outside.

It wasn't quite dinner time in Danville, and there weren't very many people eating yet. Most of the diners were elderly, or students just out of school. A small chorus of giggles caught Ferb's attention, and he looked over at a nearby booth where three teenage girls were sitting. To his surprise, they were looking back at him. One of the girls had a lime green streak in her hair and, when his eyes locked with hers, she pointed at the streak, then pointed at Ferb, and gave him a big grin and a thumbs up. He was used to people gawking at his unusual hair color, but this girl apparently liked it. The attention made him feel rather awkward, and strangely happy, and just a bit squishy somewhere north of his tummy, and his lips curled into a shy little smile as he ventured a tentative thumbs up in return. The teenage girls giggled again at this, and Ferb could have sworn that he saw the one with the green streak mouth to her friends the word, "cute." Maybe living in America would be fun after all.

Ferb was pulled back from this distraction by the light pressure of Dad's hand behind his shoulder. A thin woman with a blonde ponytail was leading them away toward more tables and booths around the corner from the pie case. In one hand she carried a big plastic folder and a colorful piece of paper, and in the other she held a small, square seat made of brown plastic. "How's this?" she smiled, showing them a booth by the side window.

"Lovely, thank you," said Dad. Ferb hadn't quite figured out the purpose of the plastic seat until Dad took it from the lady and placed it on top of the booth bench. Then Dad's hands were under Ferb's arms, lifting him up. Ferb was seriously considering some words of protest at this indignity, when he found his bottom planted securely in the plastic seat. "There you are, old chap," said Dad, with a tousle of the green hair, as he retreated to the other side of the booth. Getting himself settled, Ferb recognized the usefulness of the booster seat; without it, his nose would have been just above the table. But he was still convinced he could have climbed up to the perch under his own steam without the parental intervention. Ah, well, at least the Girls hadn't witnessed it.

"Here you go, sweetie," said the blonde lady, who wore a tag that read CINDY. She laid in front of Ferb a placemat printed with pictures, and a little cup of crayons. Dad had the big plastic folder, and Cindy pointed out to him, "The Kids' Menu is on the back. Mavis will be right with you. Enjoy your dinner."

Ferb was too hungry to care much about coloring at the moment, and he leaned forward, trying to read the back of the menu in Dad's hands. He had deciphered _Hot Dog_ (spelled properly, he noted), along with various entries involving the words _Burger_,_ Chicken_, and _Grilled Cheese_, when a new lady came up to their table. She had a stout, comfortable shape, and a tag that read MAVIS, and her eyes twinkled when she smiled at Ferb. She brought glasses of ice water and asked if they knew yet what they wanted. Dad asked for a few more minutes, and when he lowered the menu, Ferb reached a hand out toward it.

"Hon, do you want your own menu?" Mavis asked him, and Ferb nodded.

Ferb noticed that she glanced at his father for any objection, but Dad just said, "Oh, sorry, old chap," and passed him the one he held. It was rather large for Ferb's small hands, and he spread it open on the table and pored over it. Mavis offered something to drink, and rattled off several choices. The words "cherry limeade" caught Ferb's ear, and his head snapped upright in response. Mavis chuckled at this and said, "Well, that got your attention." Dad ordered two cherry limeades for them, and a basket of onion rings, as well as an extra menu.

While they waited for their drinks, Dad turned over his new menu and started reading off the Kids' choices on the back, but Ferb shook his head. He was far too hungry, and this was too big an adventure, to be satisfied by a mere cheese sandwich, grilled or not. "Well," his father conceded, "we do have a refrigerator at the hotel, so we can always take away the leftovers. All right, son, let's eat like kings! Whatever you want."

Mavis appeared with their cherry limeades and promised that the onion rings would soon follow. Ferb was still intently studying the caption under a particularly intriguing picture in the menu, and now, looking up at his father, he raised one finger.

"Yes, Ferb?" said Dad.

Turning his eyes to Mavis, Ferb asked her, "What is 'chicken fried steak'?"

She didn't laugh at the question, but explained, "It's a beef steak that's dipped in batter and pan fried. It's like fried chicken, but with steak. It comes with our country gravy and mashed potatoes and green beans." She glanced at Dad as she added, "It's pretty big."

"That's all right, we have a refrigerator," Dad assured her.

Ferb closed his menu. "I would like the chicken fried steak, please."

Mavis did smile at his solemn tone as she took the menu. Dad ordered the pot roast, and she went to turn in their orders. Ferb slurped at his drink and tried some onion rings – they were hot and crispy and good, especially dipped in ketchup. The sharpest pangs of hunger thus soothed, he finally turned his attention to his placemat. There were colorful farm animals depicted around the border, and in the blank, white center of the paper was a puzzle. Ferb knew at once what this was, and his eyes lit up as he reached for a crayon. It was one of those puzzles where you drew lines between the numbered dots to make a picture! He always liked these, even though he could already guess from the surrounding fence and pig and horse that this one was going to be a barn. He got a little ketchup on the picture as he ate and worked, but that was all right; he meant to color the barn red, anyway.

At length, Mavis returned with a big platter, and set their plates in front of them. "Be careful, hon," she told Ferb, "it's hot." He nodded in acknowledgement of this, and took a deep breath of the appetizing aroma. Dad asked if he needed a hand, and he shook his head. Taking the big knife and fork in his small fingers, Ferb attacked his dinner.

The very first bite made his eyes go round with joy. The steak was tender, and the savory coating was crunchy, and the gravy… the gravy was like nothing he had ever tasted before, rich and creamy and good enough to eat with a spoon. Ferb smacked his lips and eagerly hacked at his plate. The knife and fork clanked against each other, and Dad offered again to cut the meat for him, but Ferb quickly swallowed a mouthful to say, "No, thank you, Father." _Father_ was the term he used when he was feeling very firm in his intentions and was not open to debate. Dad understood this, and allowed him to handle his own utensils, but he did remark, with a chuckle, "Slow down, son; that plate's not running away from you. And don't forget your veg."

After the next bite, Ferb came up for air and stabbed a green bean, swabbing it in the gravy before it reached his mouth. _Not bad_, he thought. Of course, the gravy made everything taste better. Mavis came by to see how they were doing, and, when she asked Ferb, "How's that chicken fried steak?" he answered with a big grin and a thumbs up. At some point, Dad offered a sample of his pot roast, and Ferb shook his head. It looked good enough, but they had roast beef in England, and there was no novelty to it. It took Ferb a minute to realize that the proper thing to do next would be to offer his father a taste of the glorious chicken fried steak, and it took him another minute to decide that, well, yes, he supposed there was enough to share. Ferb pointed his fork at the steak, then at his father, who took the hint and said, "Why, thank you, Ferb; just a bite, please." Dad cut one bit off the end of the steak facing him, and responded after eating it with a polite, "Mm, thank you."

Ferb's pace slowed as he worked his way further into the plate. He tasted his potatoes, and they were fine (mostly just an excuse for eating more gravy), but he wasn't keen on giving up valuable tummy-space to them. He ate enough of his green beans to please his father (and they really weren't bad, even without the gravy). He was not yet a third of the way through his steak when Dad said, "Don't forget to leave room for dessert."

Ferb nearly dropped his knife at this. He had forgotten about dessert! "May I…" he started to mumble, then stopped long enough to finish the bite in progress before he tried again. "May I have pie?"

"Of course," said Dad.

The prospect of cherry pie was enough to compel him to reluctantly lay down his knife and fork. Dad assured him, "We'll take the rest of that with us. You can have it tomorrow." Their hotel room had not only a refrigerator, but a microwave oven for warming things up, so Ferb accepted this compromise, and sat back from his plate.

Mavis came around and said, "Can I box that up for you, hon?"

"Yes, please," said Ferb, suddenly stifling a yawn.

She asked Dad if he was still working on his dinner, and he said yes, he was, then she asked if they were saving room for dessert. Ferb perked up at this and looked at his father, who said, "I think Ferb would like something."

Thus encouraged, Ferb piped up, "May I have a piece of cherry pie, please?"

"Well, of course, you may," Mavis beamed at him. "Especially with such nice manners. How about some ice cream on that?"

"No, thank you," said Ferb, knowing he didn't have room for both. "Just the pie, please."

"Coming right up," she smiled, taking his plate.

The cherry pie was so good, it made him almost – _almost_ wish he hadn't eaten quite so much steak. Ferb was only about halfway through it, though, when he discovered that he could no longer hold onto his fork. Dad was finishing up his pot roast, and Mavis was going to bring him some strawberry shortcake. Eyes drooping, Ferb clambered down from the booster seat to the padded bench of the booth. "All right there, old chap?" he heard Dad say, and he felt himself nod vaguely as he stretched out on his side and closed his eyes. The long, long day was finally catching up with him, and now Ferb just wanted to sleep.

He was still half-conscious of the sounds around him, though, as he dozed lightly. Eventually, he heard Mavis say, "Aw, would you look at that, poor little guy."

"He's had a long day," came Dad's voice. "We left London just this morning. It's well past his bedtime there."

"Are you here on vacation, or…?"

"No, we're moving here. Just the two of us, a couple of old bachelors." Dad's warm chuckle made Ferb feel happy. They really were embarking on a grand adventure, and Ferb wasn't afraid if he had Dad with him.

"Well, welcome to Danville," said Mavis. Ferb heard her moving dishes, then she said, "Your little boy sure is sweet."

"Don't know what I'd do without him," said Dad.

"I have two of my own." Mavis spoke quietly. "They're both teenagers now, and I tell you, I miss those days. Well, here's your check. You got all your food? I put the rest of his pie in there, too."

"Thank you. Thank you very much, Mavis. I have no doubt we'll be back."

"Well, I'll look forward to seeing you again. Have a good evening." And then Ferb felt a gentle hand brush his hair, and the woman softly said, "'Night, hon."

Then Dad was picking him up and hefting him in his arms, and Ferb's sleepy head was on his shoulder. A plastic bag crinkled as it hung from Dad's elbow, and Ferb knew he would have chicken fried steak and cherry pie for lunch tomorrow. As Dad carried him out into the cool evening, Ferb's eyes blinked open for a moment, and he raised one small hand to wave goodbye to Goldie's Diner.

Stuffed and sleepy and safe in his father's embrace, Ferb Fletcher breathed a contented sigh. His first expedition in the New World had been a success.

THE END

**A/N – This was fun to write, and my regular readers may notice callbacks to some of my other stories. The Three Teenage Girls are nobody we know, but I couldn't resist the idea of Itty Ferb being a Hit with the Ladies, tee hee. Dan & Swampy own Ferb & Lawrence. Thanks, again, to BroadwayFanGirl91 for issuing the challenge!**


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